


By The Light Of The Night

by t_fic (topaz), topaz, topaz119 (topaz)



Category: NSYNC
Genre: First Time, Halloween, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-31
Updated: 2007-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:57:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/t_fic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz119
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's Chris and a party and JC and fishnets. You do the math.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By The Light Of The Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I have _Rocky Horror_ on in the background while I'm handing out candy...

"Dude." JC batted at the fake cobwebs stretched end-to-end along the front of Chris's house, covering the shrubbery and windows and, oh, yeah, the _door_. "I thought the purpose of a party was to have people come and, y'know, _party_."

"Atmosphere, Chasez," Chris answered. "I know you're used to those high-end Hollywood parties, but out here in the real world, we like Halloween to look like _Halloween_, not some interior decorating theme."

JC edged past a couple of--guys? chicks? dressed in the full Michael Meyers deal. They could be accountants by day, with a fetish for full-on horror costuming by night, or they could be the real deal. It was Chris; you never knew.

"Hey, man, I'm gonna go change up in your room, okay?" JC hefted the bag with the rest of his costume in it. He could have driven over in it, but he'd have had to have done his make-up and wig here anyway, so he figured he'd just change, too.

Chris waved distractedly, diving back into the crowd to sort out what looked like a death feud between two ninja assassins--JC was pretty sure he saw nunchucks flashing but there were some things he was better off not knowing, so he dodged a drunk Cleopatra who was all hands and managed to get inside Chris's bedroom and the door locked without compromising his virtue any more than strictly necessary. Cleo might not have been his type, but there was a very authentic-looking Special Forces corporal that he didn't try very hard to resist.

It didn't take all that long to get the wig and make-up done. Quick-change skills were kind of like riding a bicycle and JC was always amused at how often they came in handy. Then it was just losing the cargoes and hoodie he'd thrown on over the rest of the costume and getting the shoes and the cloak right and he was back out in public.

All of JC's bitching earlier aside, Chris knew how to throw a hell of a party and everything was flowing--and burning--freely. JC grabbed three quick shots of vodka that had to have just been pulled from the freezer, three quick icy burns that left him loose and grooving to the band set up around the pool. He contemplated taking a hit as what smelled like the really good shit went by, but ultimately passed.

"Turning all pansy on us, C?" Chris wasn't dressed as anything. Or, more precisely, JC thought, he was mostly just dressed as Chris at his freakiest. JC had seen everything Chris had on, from the furred Viking hat, complete with horns, to the cut-off camos that showed the knee brace he still needed when the weather acted up. The Freddy Krueger t-shirt might have been a nod to the occasion--or it might only have the first thing Chris found when he got out of the shower.

"Nah, cat, you know me better than that," JC answered. "It's just the shoes." He twitched aside the full length cloak long enough that Chris could see the black and silver platforms with four inch heels and sparkles. "Not really conducive to getting fucked-up, not if I don't want a broken ankle."

Chris grinned, sharp and hungry, and JC knew he'd seen more than just the shoes. Which was, yeah, nice, a slow, shimmery heat right under his skin. He stretched a little, still under the cloak, but enough to answer Chris's smile before he wandered off to go hang out. There were people crashed out around the pool that he hadn't seen in years and there was no sense rushing things. The plan was in motion; JC was just gonna go with the flow.

Chris knew right where he was, all night long. JC felt his gaze, like the barest, lightest breath on wet skin, even though they didn't say another word to each other, not until JC saw Chris talking to the lead singer of the band right before they kicked into a familiar pounding rhythm.

The crowd whistled and stomped and JC had been pretty sure this would happen--Chris might be a total freak, but some things were entirely predictable--but he rolled his eyes at Chris anyway.

"Not really my range, dude."

"Fake it, pretty boy." Chris leaned in close. "Don't tell me you haven't been waiting for this all night, not with how you're dressed."

JC grinned, because of course Chris was right and he might even get _why_ JC picked this costume. That didn't really matter; JC was more than ready to explain it to him in words of a syllable or less, but things would go a lot quicker if Chris was up to speed from the start.

It didn't even matter that JC wasn't warmed up or that that band was about ten times drunker than he was. As soon as he started, everyone was yelling the lyrics along with him and he could get right down to the real business of the evening: convincing Chris that hell, _yes_, JC had been waiting damn long enough and it was time to get on with it.

The shoes were more of a hassle than he'd been expecting, a half-size too small and the heels way too high, but once he hit the _one hell of a lover_ line and got the cloak thrown back and off, the fishnets and Merry Widow took up whatever slack his lack of mobility was leaving. He didn't think Chris had any complaints, not judging from how he was tossing down shots of Jagr every time JC shimmied his hips. And frankly, that was all that mattered; the rest of the crowd could go fuck themselves if they didn't like how he sounded.

A couple of girls joined him on the second verse, surprisingly on-key and willing to vamp it up with him (and make-out with each other when they weren't singing, which JC was definitely not going to complain about, even if it was hellaciously distracting.) There was some serious crowd participation going on, but he stole one of the lead singer's mikes as he strutted off, to make double-damn sure Chris heard every word of _come up to the lab and see what's on the slab_ before he closed out the song and ducked inside the glass doors to the living room. He snagged that fifth of ice-cold Grey Goose on his way back up to Chris's bedroom.

If JC knew Chris--and after all the years together, if not together-together, he _did_\--there wasn't any hurry. Chris wasn't gonna give in and admit to anything, not without circling around the issue another couple thousand times. It didn't matter though. JC was just as stubborn as Chris, more even, and he wasn't leaving. Period.

Chris's room faced out over the side of the house, away from the band and the party; it was quiet enough that JC found the remote and started channel-surfing until he found the porn. Chris might take his time, but there was no way JC had misread the definite interest in the dark eyes that had been following him all night. Sooner or later, Chris would be there.

*

The vodka had long since gone warm and the sun was nearly up when the door finally opened and Chris walked in the room, unexepectedly quiet. JC stayed where he was, curled up under the quilt on the big bed. The TV was muted, but the bodies still twisted and writhed and the light flickered over the room.

"What is this, JC?" Chris wouldn't look at him, but his voice sounded steady--hoarse and raspy, but not drunk or high.

"What do you think it is?" JC leaned up on his elbow, watching as Chris nudged the discarded platforms out of his way before lightly fingering the fishnets that JC had draped over the over-stuffed armchair when he'd finally decided that a shower was in order.

"Halloween, right?" Chris laughed, sharp and bitter. "Time to play at being whoever you're not."

"Sure," JC agreed. "Doesn't mean it's not what you want anyway."

"Don't you fucking play games with me, Joshua." Chris drew a deep breath, scrubbing his hand across the scruff of beard on his chin and finally met JC's eyes. "Just, don't."

"I was playing some tonight," JC said, nodding. "Not with you, though." He sat up all the way and let the quilt fall down around his hips, low enough that not even Chris at his most stubborn could miss that JC was naked in his bed.

"What is this, JC?" Chris repeated.

"Exactly what it looks like, exactly what you're telling yourself it isn't." JC managed not to roll his eyes; he thought he might deserve some kind of award for that. He wriggled completely out from under the covers. "If you quit being so thick-headed, I won't even make you take a shower before I blow you."

Chris watched him silently for a long, long minute, one of the longest of JC's life, but then one corner of his mouth quirked up. "Such a fucking romantic, Chasez," he said, pulling the t-shirt over his head.

"I sang you _Sweet Transvestite_, man," JC said. "I'm saving the roses for _Some Enchanted Evening_." Chris snorted and JC made a mental note to call Joey and find out what florists in Orlando could deliver rose petals by the truckload, but then Chris was on the bed and anything that wasn't skin pressing on skin went flying right out of his head.

"Fuck,C," Chris groaned into the curve of JC's neck and JC hissed at the sharp scrape of teeth along his collarbone. "_Fuck_. Did you shave your legs?"

"Fishnets, man," JC panted, getting his legs around Chris's waist. "They look like hell if you don't and I wanted--shit, Chris, yeah, like that--I wanted to look goo--oh, _fuck_\--"

Chris was grinding down onto him, hot and sweaty and perfect, even before he slicked his fingers with pre-come and started working them into JC. His eyes were dark and intent and JC let himself fall into them, arching up hard and needy.

"Yeah, Chris, _God_, want you, want your come on me," JC panted and then whimpered as Chris pushed a third finger in, rough and hot and merciless. JC came, biting back a howl at the sudden sharp burn and made himself keep his eyes open so he could watch Chris come, too.

"Fuck," JC mumbled, as soon as his lungs remembered how to breathe. He dug his nails into Chris's hips, not letting him get away, rocking up into him. "You figure out what this is yet?"

"Hell, no," Chris answered, but he was mouthing over the marks he'd left on JC's neck. Translating from the Chris, that meant good things.

"Cool," JC said. "I don't shave my legs for just anyone."

"Freak," Chris said.

JC hummed in agreement and fell back asleep as the sun came up.


End file.
